The rain drummed the thatched roofs of a small cluster of houses that made up Findale. The dirt road that ran through the heart of the village had come alive with little streams of water that flowed down wagon ruts and disappeared into hedgerows that shielded Findale from the outside world. Little else could be heard over the rain.
House doors were barred shut and shutters had been fastened over all windows. The village seemed deserted but, here and there, small slivers of light could be seen shining through cracks in a shutter or illuminating frayed areas of thatch on roofs.
The villagers of Findale had not just barred themselves against the weather; all around, crops had been trampled, roads and tracks scarred by a myriad of hoof prints from a large body of cavalry that had swept throu
